Not even those napkins are gonna clean up this mess

Saturday night, bartending, I got into it with a guest over napkins. Yeah. Napkins.

Here's how the interactions should have gone down if the guest in question wasn't a rude, entitled meaniehead:

Me -- Hi, what can I get for you?
Guest -- I'd like a mango margarita, please.
Me -- Sure! Would you like any salt or sugar on the rim?
Guest -- Salt, please.
Me -- Alright, will do! *makes and serves the margarita*
Guest [ two minutes later ] -- Could I get some napkins please? Some of the margarita overflowed, and it's made a bit of a mess.
Me -- *hands her three Bevnaps* Here ya go.
Guest -- Thank you.
Me -- My pleasure.
Guest [ two minutes later ] -- I don't really like this. Could I get a different drink please?
Me -- Sure, what can I get for you instead?
Guest -- A strawberry margarita, please?

...blah blah blah, et cetera, et cetera...

Yeah, none of that "please" and "thank you" stuff actually happened. I'm sure common courtesy and manners would be far too much to ask of this woman.



[ photo credit ]

Instead, here's how it actually went down:

Well, just kidding. First let me offer a little background to help set the scene. The majority of my work as a bartender isn't actually tending bar; it's handling to-go orders. Also, our bartenders have adopted the habit of opening each box in front of the guest, showing them the food to ensure the order's accuracy, and then running back to the kitchen for the 3 ranches, 1 gravy, and 2 honey mustards that the guest KNEW they'd need but didn't have the decency to request over the phone so that they'd be with the order in the first place and not waste any more of anyone's time. This makes the to-go operation much lengthier, but it is worthwhile, as our kitchen often leaves off side salads, dessert accoutrements, etc.

And now, the story:

The guest sat down by herself on the side of the bar where we handle our to-go orders. Sybil, one of my fellow bartenders, greeted the lady, "Hi, what can I do for you?" Her response? Nothing. She was so zoned out, she didn't even look up or realize she had been addressed. In such a case as this (or when a guest is on the phone), we just wait a few minutes and try then. So five minutes later, Sybil asks me to greet her. "She completely ignored me when I tried. Maybe she'll pay attention now."

Given her proximity to the to-go area, and the fact that the five people near her were all waiting to pick up their to-go orders, and the fact that a large tray with about three orders had just arrived at my counter, I assumed she might be waiting on a to-go order.

Me -- Hi, are you waiting on to-go order?
Guest -- I'm waiting, but I haven't placed an order.
Me -- Okay, so you still need to place your to-go order? Do you need a menu?
Guest -- I'm not doing a to-go order [ I can practically hear her eyes rolling ]. I'm waiting on a table, and I want a drink.
Me -- Okay, do you need a drink menu?
Guest -- No. I know what I want. I want a mango margarita.

Fast forward to the delivery of her margarita. I immediately proceed to do a show-and-tell of the to-go order for the guest seated directly next to her. In between box one and box two, she interrupts me: "Excuse me, I need some napkins." Annoyed at the interruption for something so minor, I walk over to my cart o' supplies, get three Bevnaps, and hand them to her. A minute later, I'm almost done with showing his order, when she interrupts me again: "I need more napkins." "Okay! One moment." At this point I have my hands full of boxes to take back to kitchen to get the missing salad and bread. I am not about to reward her with immediate napkins again for after interrupting me again. So instead I go get the missing items and am back within a minute, picking up more napkins on the way. Once his order is done, though, more attitude sets in.

Guest -- I don't really like this drink.
Me -- Okay, what can I get for you instead?
Guest -- It's just nasty. The flavor just isn't right. *she goes on and on*
Me [ patience waning ] -- Okay, what can I get for you instead?
Guest -- Strawberry margarita.

I silently make and deliver the new margarita, and proceed to help other to-go guests. Not five minutes later, this second margarita is "nasty" too.

Guest -- I don't like it. The flavor is nasty. It tastes just like the first one.
Me -- Ah, well, we actually use the same margarita mix for all of our frozen margaritas. I just added the strawberry flavor to the glass this time instead of adding the mango flavor like last time.
Guest -- Oh, so all you do is just put some flavor in the glass?

Plus, does she honestly expect that a restaurant as cheap as ours,
with a house margarita for THREE DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS
is seriously going to have premade flavored margaritas?
That is just terrible business sense.
Or maybe I'm the only one with a BBA around here?

Me [ what I was thinking ] -- Isn't that what I just said?
Me [ what I actually said ] -- Yes ma'am. [ Mind you, being seated at the bar, she had full visibility of the process of pumping syrup into a schooner and then filling it with frozen margarita. Both times. But once again, attentiveness apparently just is not her strong suit. ]
Guest -- It just tastes sour. It is not sweet at all. It's just alcohol and sour-tasting.
Me [ what I was thinking ] -- Yeah, it should. Because those are the exact ingredients: alcohol and sour mix.
Me [ what I actually said ] -- Yeah, there's a lot of alcohol in there. And the lime flavor of our Sweet and Sour mix will give it that slightly sour taste--
Guest [ interrupting, as usual, but this time with an increased level of attitude ] -- I know what's in a margarita. I drink margaritas all the time. This is just nasty. It is not sweet at all. I don't taste the flavor AT ALL.
Me -- Would you like some extra strawberry syrup? That should sweeten it up more for you.
Guest -- Yeah. *rolls eyes*

I bring her a lowball glass filled with double the amount of syrup that's already in her margarita and set it down next to her drink. My to-go phone is ringing, so I turn around to answer it. My back is towards my guests, but as I am now facing a wall full of mirrors, I see the lady stir the syrup into the margarita. The genius had only taken a few drinks beforehand, so now she's overflowing the margarita onto the bar, making an even bigger mess than she'd made with the mango one.

What I saw next was the final straw for my patience with this lady. I saw her get up, walk ten feet over towards my cart o' supplies, REACH OVER MY BAR, pick up my basket of napkins, take the napkins out of the basket [ thus HANDLING ALL OF THEM ], and take an inch-and-a-half stack for herself before putting the napkins back where they belonged.

Oh hell no.

Luckily, the to-go phone order was short, because I hung up, whipped around before she had made it back to her seat, and snapped at her:

Me -- Excuse me? You could have asked.
Guest -- Well, I needed more napkins.
Me -- You could have asked.
Guest -- Well, you didn't bring me the napkins I needed.
Me -- I'm sorry you already used up all the ones I already brought you, but you could have asked for more. We keep our supplies behind the bar for a reason -- we have to maintain the cleanliness of our supplies. We can't have guests just touching everything, okay? Don't. touch. our. stuff.

I felt the finality of my words emanating from my backbone, a body part I did not seem to possess before I started bartending. I felt my stomach knotting up in the effort to restrain my voice from yelling at her, although my voice was definitely raised. I felt my face flushing redder than my hair, realizing that every single guest at the bar top, in the to-go area, and at the tall tables nearest our bar was turning ever so attentively back and forth between the two of us like it was the Wimbledon finals. I felt comforted, though, that none of those onlookers seemed remotely offended by my actions. It seemed that I would escape this situation without further incident.

I walked off, taking a deep breath to calm myself, and proceeded to get back to my job. She nursed that margarita for the next hour before laying out her money; all the while, I was my normal cheerful, peppy self as I handled the to-go orders right next to her. I consciously overdid my friendliness as if it were a lethal weapon -- See? Everyone else is a decent human being, and I love to serve them. You, lady, are just a rude, entitled meaniehead, so you don't get any good service from now on.

Guess what? She didn't tip. But I didn't need to tell you that for you to know she wouldn't tip. But whatever, I didn't care. She didn't say another word to anyone, even in the payment process. I cheerfully handed her change with a "Here ya go!" and watched it all go into her purse, of course.

This whole interaction really irked me though. I dwelled on it for the rest of the weekend, actually. I kinda wish she had escalated it so I could just throw it back in her face. Put her in her place. All that jazz. Next time, though, I'll be ready...

Me [ in the hypothetical future repeat of this situation ] -- Ma'am, as a bartender and food server, I am legally bound to protect the health and safety of the guests in this restaurant by ensuring that all supplies are kept clean. That means that no guests are allowed to touch what is in the kitchen or behind the bar, because, quite frankly, ma'am, I don't know when you last washed your hands or if you've recently been exposed to some illness or disease. So here you go. *hand her the entire stack of napkins* These are yours now. You've touched them, so now I can't serve them to anyone else.

BAM!

A little over the top? Definitely.
Effective in curtailing an unsafe behavior? Probably.
Gonna get me fired? Maybe.

Hah. Until then, [ degreed waitress ] shall continue protecting her napkins :)


[ degreed waitress ]